See her shake her *****
as she stirs those pots and pans,
her hips a thing of beauty
as she taps them with her hands.
Her slippers keeping rhythm 
as she shimmies cross the floor,
and she's singing along with em'
as she rocks from 12 till 4.
She's a twisting and a turning
as she raises up the heat,
with the passion she's a cooking
in her crazy tea time beat.
Clapping hands and jiving
as she adds a pinch of spice, 
now her upper bodies writhing 
as she slaps her buttocks twice.
there's hand prints on her bottom 
where the flour left it's trace,
and she shakes em' cause she's got em'
with a smirk upon her face.
Now she's potato mashing
as she did back in her day,
and boy she still looks smashing
as her hips so softly sway.
Now shes Serving up and beckons
for me to pass my plate,
asking if I fancy seconds 
then the meal will have to wait.
Now she's walking to the bedroom
with a two step on her mind,
and I turn up the volume 
and close the door and draw the blind.